


Lex Talionis

by Philomytha



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Finale, The Blitz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 13:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13614651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: "You shouldn't have come back for me."





	Lex Talionis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [within_a_dream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/gifts).



> Dear within_a_dream, thank you for requesting my very favourite micro-fandom characters. I adored this show and the last episode left everything hanging, but particularly these two, holding hands inside a burning building. Here's the next scene.

The smoke was getting thicker. Lady Hamilton had to stop, coughing. The hand that gripped hers did not slacken, but Mr Garland did not waste breath in trying to speak, just pulled her on. She stumbled on after him, the beam from his torch doing little more than illuminate the smoke, swirling grey patterns in the thick air. Mr Garland pulled her down sharply and she found herself on hands and knees. She could still see the pattern of the carpet, almost the only thing she could see. She'd chosen this pattern, she remembered suddenly, a decade ago or more. 

"Stay low," said Mr Garland hoarsely. "Less smoke. Go in front of me." He propelled her forwards. Her gown clung awkwardly to her legs as she tried to crawl, stopping her from moving forwards. She hitched it up around her waist, indecently. What did it matter now? Mr Garland had seen much worse of her today. 

They came to the stairs and crept down. The smoke was thinner as they went down, and the air cooler. She felt a draught on her face. These stairs would turn into a chimney soon, she thought, and turned back at the bottom to look up. There had been times when she'd wanted the hotel to burn to the ground, and take all its memories with it. She'd have left it behind to run off with Lucian, only a few hours ago. Mr Garland pushed past her at the bottom, and helped her to her feet. 

"This way." The air was clearer here, but instead of smoke there was plaster dust swirling, its dry dusty taste filling her mouth. There was rubble everywhere. She'd lived here most of her adult life, and she couldn't tell where she was. But Mr Garland seemed sure of his way. He took hold of her arm and led her over a broken beam, past upended and smashed furniture and glittering broken glass. She saw a china teacup, miraculously unbroken, with the hotel's colours and monogram in gold, and stooped automatically to pick it up, as if this was an ordinary evening in her hotel. 

Then she was on the floor with eyes blinded and ears ringing, a heavy weight on her back. She lay still, wondering if she was dead, but surely death would be less dusty and smoky. Another bomb? The flames from the building would make an excellent target-light for the bombers. Perhaps the gas main. She tried to twist away from whatever was on top of her, and managed to squirm out from underneath. 

It was Mr Garland, falling sideways as she knelt up. "Garland," she said. He didn't respond, lying unnaturally still, as still as Lucian had lain. The strange numbness that had filled her since then seemed to thicken, and she sat on the floor, not moving, not thinking, paralysed as the dust swirled around them. 

Then Mr Garland moved, groaned, turned his head, and Lady Hamilton felt something break through her numbness: relief. He wasn't dead. He would get her out.

"Garland," she said again, "We have to keep going. We're still inside." 

He raised his head. There was blood running down his face, dripping in his eyes, dark streaks against his light hair. She swallowed. "Garland," she said again. 

"Lady Hamilton," he said. "Yes." Then, very much in his usual tone, "yes, I will handle it, Lady Hamilton." 

Something relaxed at the familiar words and tone, confident, calm, controlled. The perfect manager. He propped himself up on one elbow, then fell back, eyes closing again. 

"Mr Garland," she said, voice sharp with anger. Definitely anger, and not terror, she dared not even acknowledge the terror that had been gnawing at her all day, or it would consume her. Anger was much safer. "Mr Garland!"

He mumbled something indistinct, but didn't move. Mr Garland, clearly, was not going to handle it. 

Lady Hamilton coughed on dust and dirt, and sat back on her heels and stared around, trying to get her bearings, squinting through dust and smoke for a way out. A ceiling had collapsed nearby, broken beams jagged across the open space, and what she realised was half a bed. It was the chandelier, somehow still half-attached to the fallen ceiling, that she recognised. She'd chosen that too, not as elegant as the ones in the main reception areas or the ones in the suites, but too good for the staff areas. These were the second-class bedrooms, and this was the back corridor on the wing. If she hadn't got turned around, there should be a door... yes, she could see it, off its hinges, but there was a passage through, and that would take her past the lift shafts and into the atrium. It wasn't far. 

The smoke was getting thicker, burning her chest, her throat, her eyes stinging. She couldn't remain here. Mr Garland lay unmoving. 

He would die if he stayed here. 

The thought slithered through her head, like the snake in the garden of Eden. He was the only witness to what she had done. Lucian's body was burned, vaporised, blown to pieces. Nothing left of her crime but dust and smoke, and the memory inside Mr Garland's head. And she could lose that too, if she went now. 

She stood up, staring at the body at her feet. Again. Then Mr Garland opened his eyes, and saw her. "Lady Hamilton," he said hoarsely. "Get out. Go." 

The smoke sent her into a coughing fit, and she had to bend over, gasping. Something crashed in the distance, and the smoke began to rise, thinning out again. 

"Get out," Mr Garland repeated, gesturing shakily in the wrong direction, the words taking her temptation and turning it into self-sacrifice. "Now." 

"No, damn you," she said, and stooped down again. "You have to get up. Come on. Up." She touched him for the first time, shaking his shoulder. "Get up. Try, damn you. How are you hurt?" 

She wasn't sure how to help him, but when she caught at his arm he sat up shakily. "Something hit me," he muttered, putting his hand to his head and swaying back again. Lady Hamilton pulled at his arm, gingerly at first, then as he tried to stand she cast reserve aside and caught hold of him bodily. 

"Come on." He leaned on her, and she set her gaze on the doorway ahead. "Come on. This way." 

He stumbled forwards, unsteady as a drunk, and Lady Hamilton nagged him as mercilessly as she had once nagged her husband. "Keep moving, no, you can't stop there, come on," and under the lash of her tongue he made his way through the doorway, past chunks of plaster and around broken glass, and into the atrium, where he tripped over a smashed table and fell to the floor, pulling her with him. 

Lady Hamilton said a word she'd only ever heard Freddie use, and struggled to her knees. "Mr Garland," she said, "come on, get up." 

He didn't move, eyes closed now. She'd seen Lawrence like this once, after a bad fall out hunting, stunned from a blow to the head. But then she'd had doctors and servants to deal with it all. She was alone with this now. 

"Richard," she tried in desperation, "come on, the hotel is on fire, you have to get up."

"Sam," he mumbled. "I'm not Richard. Sam."

Mr Garland is not what he seems, Lucian had said, and it seemed Lucian was right. Lady Hamilton sat still for a moment, considering this, considering the two men, truth and lies. 

"No," she said at last, her voice strengthening, "no, you are Richard Garland and you are my hotel manager." She put just a flicker of emphasis on that 'my', and saw it get through to him, the way he caught his breath, eyes opening. "Now get up." 

He did, falteringly. She had to take his weight, his arm draped over her shoulder, and it hurt, rubbing against the angry bruises Lucian had left at the base of her neck. She set her focus on the door and trudged on anyway, her arm around him tighter than a lover. A life for a life, would this count in whatever cosmic balance was measured out for today? The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, the vicar had said at Lawrence's funeral. Perhaps it balanced out. 

"Mr Garland," she asked as they reached the door, "have you lied to me?"

He coughed, choked, swallowed. "Yes, your ladyship. Yes, I have."

"Thank you," she said, and they were out in sudden fresh clean air and there were lights and hands reaching to help her, to take Mr Garland from her and put him on a stretcher, a blur of faces and voices swirling around her. She covered her face with her hands, rubbed frantically at her eyes, and spat dust and smoke from her mouth. Then she looked around her. Half the hotel was wreathed in smoke and jets of water from the firemen's hoses, wreckage and dust. But half was unscathed. She still had a hotel, and she had a street full of guests and staff. She straightened. 

On the stretcher, Mr Garland was struggling against the ATS girl who was trying to bandage his head. "No--I have to--the guests--the register--"

Lady Hamilton walked over to him. "You have to lie still," she said. "Leave it with me, Mr Garland."


End file.
